


Finding Home

by GrangerPeavon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, F/M, M/M, Nobody is Dead, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2395424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrangerPeavon/pseuds/GrangerPeavon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stupid werewolves." he muttered as he swung his bat down on the head of the nearest advancing figure with a sickening crunch. "Stupid zombies."<br/>~~<br/>It's been three weeks since the out break of the zombie apocalypse and Stiles has used all that time attempting to find his way back to those he cares for. Through mishaps and messes, Stiles learns exactly how much care he has for his pack and exactly how far he'll go for any one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homeward Bound

**Author's Note:**

> So, I published a few years ago to ff. net, but I quit because I lost the will to write due to family issues and other life events. This is my second try to continue what I love. I haven't fully caught up on teen wolf, but I am entirely in love with Sterek. The first time I saw it, I fell in love with it. This story has been brewing a long time and will be added to as I write more. If y'all ask me to, I will go on an update schedule, but that's only if you guys really want me to. 
> 
> Also, I don't have a beta or anything, so I own up to all my mistakes and take credit for them.

Stiles had never really given the zombie apocalypse much thought. He could deal with werewolves, witches and all other creatures that were rumoured to go bump in the night, but he had never really thought that the entire world would be over run by the "Living-dead".  
He had never hated to be wrong more.  
"Stupid werewolves." he muttered as he swung his bat down on the head of the nearest advancing figure with a sickening crunch. "Stupid zombies." His clothes were spattered with the spray of dying zombies and his once short hair, that was now grown out enough to cover his ears, was matted with drying blood.  
As he dodged the advancing figures, Stiles thought back to the events of the day the world stopped existing as it once had. It had been a Sunday. He was off to college a year before, but when he saw the reports, he had packed up and headed home to Beacon Hills to be with his dad and the pack. That had been three weeks ago and he had been on foot since the first day. At night, he slept in any place that he could locate shelter and he ate what he had packed and then what he could. For the first two weeks, he had travelled with a group of 7, all nice enough to be good companions, but once they found a place that could be considered a permanent safe house, they decided to settle down. He had stayed with them for a few days in the old elementary school that they decided to claim as home, helping to zombie proof everything as much as possible, before taking off in the direction of his home town with the promise to be careful. Before he left, the group made sure he knew that he could come back at any point, but he shot them down with a smile and simply said, "Nah, my dad's waiting for me."  
As these thoughts filled his head, Stiles brought the bat down on the head of another zombie harder than strictly necessary to incapacitate it. The past few weeks had been agony for him, with the not knowing about his father and his adopted family that the pack had become. He knew they could take care of themselves, he had no doubt, but he still hated to not be there when he knew for a fact they were fighting for their lives. He Only hoped they stayed put so that he would be able to find them.  
Finally finishing off the smaller group that had surrounded him, Stiles lowered his bat, breathing heavily. His experience with werewolves had been a good training session, what with all the stamina it required. Had he not been in such good shape, he probably wouldn't be nearing Beacon Hills as soon as he was. Stiles had become accustomed to little sleep over the past few years and his many hospital chair experiences acclimatized him to the strange positions he had been forced to sleep in over the past weeks. He had run out of aderol a few days before, but it hadn't been too bad because his brain was working for him for once, cataloguing all the things in his surroundings and allowing for him to be alert for longer.  
A branch snapped in the distance and Stiles' entire body stiffened, train of though stopping to focus on the more important thing that may be trying to kill him. He crouched, worn jeans allowing him flexibility after being stretched so many times over the past week. He purposefully moved closer to a massive tree that stood a few feet away, tightening his grip on his still dripping bat. Stiles took a deep breath, holding it in to be able to hear better. There were no birds singing, though that could have been because he had scared them off when he was mobbed by the zombies.  
As he waited listening, the silence continued. His lungs began to protest after a minute and he considered it acceptable to breathe as long as he kept it to a minimum. As he let the breath he had been holding out slowly, Stiles heard a chillingly familiar sound echo through the forest that he had been cutting through. The sound ripped through the trees, feeling as if it were ripping straight through Stiles, paralysing him with the memories that went with it. He began to run blindly towards the direction it had come, throwing caution to the wind and not paying attention to his surrounding. For the first time since his he had begun his solo journey, Stile's brain focused on one thing and one thing alone.  
Scott's howl.


	2. Gone Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Way to go, Stiles." he muttered to himself, "Let's just run off at the first sign of progress, attaboy."   
> ~~  
> It's been three weeks since the out break of the zombie apocalypse and Stiles has used all that time attempting to find his way back to those he cares for. Through mishaps and messes, Stiles learns exactly how much care he has for his pack and exactly how far he'll go for any one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love everyone who reads this and I wish nothing upon you but smiles and confectionz

Eventually, Stiles' senses came back to him and he realized that running blindly may have not been the best idea he'd ever had. Actually, it ranked down in one of the worst and most deadly, Second only to pissing Lydia off. 

The first thing he noticed when he stopped to catch his breath was that the light was beginning to dim, growing dangerously close to disappearing behind the trees. Panic settled in his stomach, knowing the dangers of being out at night. The cool night air gave the creatures an edge and they became harder to fight off, not to mention that Stiles was only human and could only fight what he saw. 

Glancing around for a semblance of shelter or an indication that he was not going to have to spend the night in the open, waiting for an attack. As he raked his free hand through his hair and readjusted the backpack that had been jostled to where his flashlight was digging into his back, Stiles took a deep breath to calm himself. He racked his brain as he stood there, staring into the abyss of trees that was becoming more and more sinister as the sun grew lower in the sky. He desperately searched his surroundings to fine something that was familiar, but to no avail. 

Eventually Stiles began to walk with the sun to his left shoulder, reasoning that he couldn't be that far off his course. Though Beacon Hills was a relatively small town, the majority of it was east and west, so when approaching from the south, a person could hypothetically walk straight into town. 

Hypothetically.

Stiles, ever the pragmatist, reasoned that there was no time to pull out the map he had been marking his progress on. He regretted that he could not rest for more than a few minutes at a time, but his earlier shenanigans left Stiles with less than an hour to find shelter for the night or he would be left out in the open and at the mercy of anything that may possibly find him. 

"Way to go, Stiles." he muttered to himself, "Let's just run off at the first sign of progress, attaboy." 

Over the past week, Stiles had found comfort in the small conversations he held with himself, desperate for some form of normality. His incessant babbling was tolerated by his previous companions fairly well and he had become accustomed to the role of comedic relief in a time of misery and loss, but over the last week, his thoughts had approached a dangerous plateau of desperation for human contact and misery at the possibilities that await him in his own town. 

Just as the sun was dimming to the point of hardly providing sight, Stiles stumbled, almost literally, on a house that was standing in the middle of a clearing. Cautiously, he approached the house, noting the distinctly worn down look to the place. It seemed to be abandoned. He inched closer to the door, making his footsteps light and his breath silent. A step creaked as he stepped onto the porch, causing him to freeze and brace himself. 

Nothing happened. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Stiles pushed the door open and peered inside. The inside was not as run down as the outside, but it still wasn't exactly 'newly-renovated' material. Just inside the door stood a shelf with keys and nick nacks that sported a layer of dust that said it hadn't been touched for a while. Gaining his confidence, Stiles pushed the door open further with the business end of his bat. When there was no immediate threat, he walked in. 

Stiles wandered the house curiously before he suddenly noticed a light flashing sporadically outside the window, accompanied by the stomp of boots on the steps and Stiles promptly wishing he could catch a break. 

"Hey, Leo, did you leave the door open when we left?" a voice with a strong Texan accent inquired loud enough for Stiles to be able to hear from three rooms away.

Another voice answered a few moments later, much deeper than the first and with a scratch that could only mean he was a smoker. "No, why?" This one sounded further away. 

Throughout their exchange, Stiles was reeling about what to do. He could either bolt and run the risk of seeming like a looter or he could go out to meet them as a civilized person would. The unnamed man made his decision for him. 

"Well then, it looks like we have a little more hunting to do." He paused "Maybe it'll make up for the one wolf you let get away." He drawled in as an after thought. 

An annoyed sound from what Stiles assumed was Leo, "We all miss sometimes," he grumbled as two sets of footsteps approached the room Stiles was in. "It aint easy to hit a werewolf whose running." He dashed into the nearest door as quickly as possible, praying that it was a way out while focusing on moving as quietly as possible. 

As he came face to face with a wall, Stiles decided whatever higher power there was in the universe just loved to play with him.

Without thinking, Stiles blurted out quietly. "Oh fuck me..." Before immediately regretting it when the closet door was pulled wide by a young man with black hair and tan skin. He was wearing the type of smile that made Stiles feel the need to put miles and a few locked doors between this man and himself. 

"Well handsome." he scratched, raising a hand and slinging it forward, effectively disorienting Stiles enough that he fell. "Only if you insist."


	3. Coincidences Are A Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "C'mon man, I was just looking for a place to sleep."   
> ~~  
> It's been three weeks since the out break of the zombie apocalypse and Stiles has used all that time attempting to find his way back to those he cares for. Through mishaps and messes, Stiles learns exactly how much care he has for his pack and exactly how far he'll go for any one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was only made possible by my friend Heather, who would periodically send me messages to update.
> 
> Also, I was challenged to use the word playmate, so that's what's up with the weird terminology. 
> 
> I would really like some reviews, if it's not too much trouble. I like to see if people like it or not.   
> PS. Un-betaed. I own up to every mistake.

Stiles honestly hated his inability to keep his mouth shut. It was going to get him killed one day. 

He was just praying it wasn't this day. 

"C'mon man, I was just looking for a place to sleep." Stiles slurred as he vainly pulled against the ropes binding him. The ropes were cutting off circulation to his hands because they were tied too tightly and his speech had begun to slur the third time 'Leo' had hit him. "Can't you just let me leave?" 

Leo stood over him with a cruel smile curling his lips as his friend looked on from across the basement. The space was rough cut and the only light was from a kerosene lamp that sat in the middle of the floor, causing the eyes of both men to be cast into shadow. "Now why would we do that?" he wheezed. "We haven't had a proper guest in a really long time." He glanced back at his friend. "I'm starting to think our new neighbours don't like us much, Al"

Before he could stop himself, Stiles blurted. "Maybe you should consider a welcoming present. They work wonders." Oh, yeah, he defiantly was going to die today. 

"That's a good idea." Leo, who had turned around with a now feral grin that revealed all of his cigarette stained teeth. "What do you think of a new lawn decoration?"

Stiles looked at the large hunting knife that was produced from the other's boot and felt himself tense. He considered biting back a comment, but seeing as he was about to die any ways, "That cannot be sanitary."  
~`~  
Derek gazed out the window of the Hale house, eyes far away on the setting sun and thoughts with his beta. Scott had been shot by hunters on a supply run into town and was getting worse due to their lack of wolfs bane bullets to counter act the effects. The only chance the wolf would have would be to go and find the hunters and pray that they are not out of bullets.   
Turning, Derek took a deep breath and called, "Isaac, we're going find Erica and see what she found." 

Appearing, Isaac nodded and they were off. They followed the scent of Erica into the forest, eventually finding her taking on around a dozen zombies. The trio finished them off quickly before Derek turned to Erica. "What'd you find?"

Erica looked at him with scrunched eyebrows. "Hello to you too, Derek." She muttered, then more clearly, " About a mile or so south of here, there was a group of playmates downed. A scent lead north, but I couldn't tell if it was the hunters. If it was, they are not very good about covering their scent."

After sparing a glare at her terminology, Derek motioned for her to lead them in the direction she had been going. With Erica taking the lead, Derek and Isaac were left to take up the rear, running almost shoulder to shoulder. After a few minutes, Derek caught on to what Erica was chasing, inhaling deeply, nostrils flaring. The scent was familiar, like a memory that you knew was there, but couldn't exactly remember. As he pondered, Erica suddenly pulled to a stop, almost making him plow into her. 

They had stopped in front of a house that had definitely seen better days. There was a murmur of voices in the house and, every so often, a choked breath was let out, as if someone were trying to stop from screaming. Isaac looked like he was going to be sick. 

Derek threw the other a questioning look. "What?" he mouthed.

Isaac shook his head and whispered, "It just... Does it sound like someone is hurting in there?" 

Derek did his best to remain passive. "Isaac, do you remember why we're here?" Isaac nodded. "Then focus on that." Another nod. "Good." 

Eric was staring at the house with a weird intensity all through the exchange. "Guys." she hissed. "Listen."

Through the muffling of the wall came a scratching voice. "Well, aint this lil shit a trooper. Going an hour and not a single noise." He punctuated with a laugh. "Maybe I'll have to try a lil bit harder, whaddya think Al?" 

Another voice sounded, this one with a strong accent that could only be described as Texan. "Careful, Leo, if ya don't slow down on the kid, you're gonna be out a toy sooner than later."

A slight scoffing sound could hardly be heard. "Great," a new voice joined, much more fain than the others, and the three eavesdroppers looked to each other. "Last day alive and I've been reduced to a toy."

Outside the house, Erica and Isaac had turned and each laid a hand on Derek's shoulder, both staring straight into his eyes that were still blown wide in shock. 

He knew that voice. The scent from earlier suddenly made much more sense. 

Stiles.


	4. Slipping Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, Sourwolf." he muttered, a weak smile slipping across his face as he fought with his eyelids. "Didja miss me?"
> 
> ~~  
> It's been three weeks since the out break of the zombie apocalypse and Stiles has used all that time attempting to find his way back to those he cares for. Through mishaps and messes, Stiles learns exactly how much care he has for his pack and exactly how far he'll go for any one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I was swept away with the need to focus on college applications for a while. Real life SUXXXXX BUTT
> 
> Anyways, I'd love some reviews and shit but I don't wanna look like I'm begging, so~
> 
> Also, IT'S SNOWING IN OKLAHOMAAAAAAAAA   
> I LOVE SNOW

Stiles accepted that he was probably going to die in this dirty basement about 20 minutes after Leo started his game. At this point, he was determined to not let the other men see him scream. It had been cry, but against his will, tears had begun to stream down his face as the other began slicing the sensitive skin of his cheek. The salt water mingled with the blood, creating a stinging sensation over all the cuts on his face. 

"Cutie." Leo said as he pulled the knife across the exposed skin on Stile's back, opening a deep cut. "As fun as this is," he drawled, "Dinner time for me." 

There was a clang behind Stiles, causing a hard flinch which opened the cuts stretched across his ribs. His shirt had been torn off a while back and there was nothing between him and the cool air. A shiver made it's way down his spine as he listened to the footsteps above him. The ropes around his wrists burned as he attempted to feel the knot. He was not tied to the chair he was positioned in, though his arms looped one on each side of the folding chairs. There was hardly any room for him to fidget, let alone attempt an escape. 

The sounds above him floated in and out of his consciousness as he waited. That was the only option he had left at this point: wait for death. The tears began to flow faster.

"I'm sorry dad..." he muttered to himself. He may as well do this now, because the puddle at his feet was only growing. "I'm sorry Scott, Melissa... I'm sorry I couldn't make it back to you guys." A shiver made it's way through his arms, causing the dripping sound speed up. "Erica, Boyd, Isaac... I'm sorry." He repeated over and over, until a voice interrupted his mantra from the top floor. The last thing he dared to say as he once again quieted was a muttered. "And I'm so sorry Derek."

"Hey, cutie, why don't you ready that pretty little mouth of yours?" Leo called as the stomping of boots got closer to the stairs. "Cause tonight I'm gonna make you scream like the bitch we both know you are." He sing-songed while still approaching, though Stiles was unable to see the other because the stairs were behind him. The stomping abruptly cut off, quickly followed by a slap of metal against skin. 

Stiles turned his head the best he could, but stopped with a whimper when something slammed into his bloodied back. Gasping against the pain, he struggles to hold onto consciousness, focusing on the sounds behind him instead. There weren't many after the initial crash, but the finality a snap echoed through his brain when followed by silence. 

Stiles screwed his eyes shut against the sudden wave of nausea that went through him, willing whatever had just happened behind him to somehow be in his favour. He wasn't even sure what could be in his favour at this point, but he was prayin' hard. 

Warm hands cupped his cheeks gently, raising his face. The hands were gentle, unlike the ones from earlier. Cautiously, as he was still feeling nauseous, Stiles opened his eyes.

"Hey, Sourwolf." he muttered, a weak smile slipping across his face as he fought with his eyelids. "Didja miss me?"

Before he could see anything more than a slight raise of those impressive eyebrows, Stiles lost to his own body, slipping out of consciousness just as the other's voice penetrated his whirling brain.

"You're okay now, Stiles. I've got you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't die and things, because *spoilers* Stiles isn't.   
> Also, I love you all and will totes do things that are asked of me, like prompts. (Sor real, I've always dreamed of getting prompts!)   
> Sleep well my loveies~~!


	5. Birthright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "His heart stopped." He choked out as Deaton guided him to the other bed in the room. Gently he set Stiles down. "Save him."
> 
> ~~  
> It's been three weeks since the out break of the zombie apocalypse and Stiles has used all that time attempting to find his way back to those he cares for. Through mishaps and messes, Stiles learns exactly how much care he has for his pack and exactly how far he'll go for any one of them.

As much as his Pack liked to tease him about it, Derek's control was actually iron clad at most times. 

This wasn't most times.

"Stiles." He croaked out, cradling the other's limp face between his palms a moment longer before moving to slice through the bindings. The unconscious form slumped forward, heavily leaning against his chest. Derek couldn't hold back the grim grin that swept his features before pulling the other's face to his neck and picked him up as if he were an infant. He noted that he was lighter than the last time he had carried him as he rushed up the stairs to where Erica and Isaac had taken care of the other hunter. Derek hung in the background cradling Stiles, muttering about not risking going back alone while he couldn't fight. 

Both cast him looks of worry before going back to their search for the wolfsbane bullets with renewed vigour. Neither was bothering to be particularly neat about their search, causing a small pile to form in the centre of the room. The scent Stiles' blood permeated the air, causing a tense atmosphere that almost dripped urgency. 

In his arms, Stiles began to stir. His slight movements caused the trickles of blood that were leaking onto Derek's arms to soak deeper. Air was going in and out of him lungs, but it sounded painful. His heart sounded like it couldn't figure out if it wanted to beat or not. Moving to the couch shoved against the wall nearest wall, Derek propped the stirring Stiles up, placing a hand to his face. He tried to ignore the flinch his touch drew, instead of focusing on the pain he was taking from the other. 

After a few moments, Stiles pried one eye open, looking thoroughly confused about what was going on in front of him. His eyes raked over Derek's face over and over before he muttered, "Should have known it would be you." There were tears collecting in his eyes and his heart beat sped up.

Suddenly something occurred to Derek. "Stiles." He whispered gently. "Stiles, I need you to focus for a few seconds, okay?" He hoped his voice didn't betray exactly his wrecked this situation was leaving him. Seeing Stiles like this was slowly driving him mad and thoughts of revenge uselessly clanged in his head. 

Seeming to understand, Stiles made a vague nod, corners of his mouth quirking. "Master of concentration right here." he seemed to be trying to laugh, but that only ended in a wince of pain. 

Derek held back a smile at the other's antics. "Did you see where they put their guns?" He asked urgently. As he spoke, Stiles seemed to choke on his own breath, a cough racking his frame. The breath gently feathering across his face smelled wrong, as if the here was blood permeated into the very molecules. 

Sucking in a breath, Stiles' gaze steeled in thought before he began mumbling. "Outside." he almost breathed, "Outside in the shed." He gasped. As soon as the last word left his mouth, he fell limp once again, this time slumping into the crook of Derek's neck. 

Derek looked over his shoulder for Erica and Isaac, only to find them already gone, a crash coming from outside. Gathering Stiles once again, he followed quickly, pulling some pain from the other as best he could while moving. 

Erica exited the ragged shack hoisting a large black duffel bag to her shoulder moments before Derek stopped. Isaac was close at her heels. Both gave Stiles a look filled with worry and care. Erica stepped towards him, lifting a hand to touch the other, but Derek stopped her with a soft growl. 

"You can do that when we get back." He ground out before taking off into the trees, heading towards town. He heard the other two let out low whines before following him, Erica putting on an extra burst of speed as to get in front of him. Before he could snap at her, he realized she had the right idea, protecting the front because he couldn't. 

Running was not nearly as relaxing at this point. Not when every jostle had Stiles sucking in a pained breath and every readjustment of his grip had the other's heart rate going insane. 

Strangely, they didn't see any zombies on the return trip. As strange as it was, Derek was not about to look at a blessing too closely at this point in time. As they approached his childhood home, Derek could feel the relief as if it were tangible. 

Just as he was beginning to think they were getting lucky, that everything was going to be okay and he finally would have his Pack back together, a cruel reminder that he cannot ever relax came in the form of silence. Not total silence, though, because he could still hear the sounds made his betas as they ran. The crushing stutter drove a shock through his body, wrenching a painfilled howl from the deepest parts of his being as his feet carried him forward faster, passing a shock stricken Erica. 

Derek burst through the doors of his childhood home, eyes bleeding red and heart speeding as if it were trying to make up for the absence of the other. The familiar atmosphere now seemed to be mocking him, a reminder that there were lives in his past that he couldn't save, that there was apparently a clause in the universe that said everyone he cared for would end up dead while he had to live without them. 

Without hesitation, Derek burst into the room where Deaton was checking over Scott. Both heads turned towards him, Scott looking ready to throw an insult before he caught the look on Derek's face. He wasn't sure what was there, but whatever it was caused the insult to die in Scott's mouth and Deaton to quickly cross the rooms to him. 

When Derek spoke, it didn't sound like him. "His heart stopped." He choked out as Deaton guided him to the other bed in the room. Gently he set Stiles down. "Save him." he heard himself say. "Please." 

Deaton wasted no time. "Derek, make sure someone heals Scott." He growled. "Get Melissa, Allison or Kira to do it." When Derek didn't make a move, Deaton glared at him over his shoulder while simultaneously pumping on Stile's chest to re-start the other's heart. Derek got the message finally. 

Even in his weakened state, Scott climbed off the bed he had been occupying to help as much as possible. At the sight of all the open wounds curling around Stiles' body, Scott couldn't hold in his whimper. Before he could say anything though, the soft beat of his friend's heart echoed through the room, weak but undeniably there. Deaton was pointing across the room to his bag, ordering him to bring him various things. 

As Scott brought each one out of the bag, gasping in pain at different points, Deaton began mixing different substances together, muttering words in a language that sounded mostly like giberish to Scott. 

"Scott, you need to lay down now." said a soft voice from the door. When Scott turned, there stood Melissa with her hands cradling a bullet and a lighter. "We need to cure you." Her voice shook, but her face was set. Behind her stood Allison. "Allison will help Deaton." 

Scott looked at both of them blankly before nodding, allowing Allison to take his place as Melissa lead him from the room. Scott could be heard complaining all the way down the hall. 

Allison quickly tied back her hair, ensuring that the long dark locks were no where near in the way and turned to Deaton with a determined look in her eye. "So what are we doing?"

Deaton looked up at her, a smirk flitting across his face. "Assisting him." he said, beginning to add water to the mixture he had made in the bowl. 

Allison felt her eyebrows knit together. "Who?" 

Deaton didn't answer, instead began to rub the mixture that was now a salve onto every cut on Stiles' body. As if in answer to her question, the cuts began to glow as each was covered. Procuring another stick like his own, Deaton passed it to Allison. 

Right as she was about to help, Deaton caught her wrist. "Careful." he warned. "This may seem simple, but too much will cause Stiles serious pain." 

Nodding her acknowledgement, Allison began carefully spreading the whiteish blue paste across every cut she could see. She couldn't help the gasp as an entire gash lit up with the simplest touch of her brush. After a few moments, she couldn't hold her tongue any longer. "How?" she breathed, not stopping. 

Deaton sighed. "There are things about your friend that not even he knows." His voice was low, only meant for her. "He has a spark in him, which he knows, but he doesn't know that his spark is not normal." He paused, gesturing for Allison to help Stiles into a sitting position. "He thinks he's normal, I saw no reason to disprove him." he continued. The cuts on Stiles' back were deeper than the ones on his front. 

Allison frowned at him. "And this is doing what, exactly?" Her hands moved expertly over every cut. 

Deaton was silent until they finished. "This allows for his body to tap into his spark to heal him." he said quietly. 

"Why did you tell me this?" A tremor shook her voice, as if afraid of the answer. To distract herself, she adjusted the sheets and pillow under Stiles 

Silence filled the air around them for more than half a minute before he finally spoke. "I can no longer avoid telling him. And when I do, he will need someone he can talk to and maybe even lie to." 

Allison patiently waited for him to continue, but when it became apparent that he was not intending to share, she prompted, "Because...?"

"Because," Deaton heaved. "I no longer play the role of the Pack emissary." 

Allison looked between Deaton and Stiles, finally putting it together with a gasp. "Why?" She asked once everything had time to settle. "Why Stiles?"

"The job was rightfully his." Deaton stated factually. "I was merely a stand in until he became prepared." 

Allison could understand that, she really could. She had taken her mother's place in the family succession, but if she couldn't, then the position would have been temporarily filled by another until she was ready. But the thing that was bugging her was that hers was a family. "Why was Stiles picked?" she asked, unable to quell her curiosity. "And why now?" 

Instead of answering, Deaton simply stared at the limp form of Stiles, who was quickly regaining colour in his face. The expression on his face could only be described as unfathomable. After a few more moments of silence before he spoke again. "Not all events are written in stone, but there are certain events that have been written since the beginning of time." A shadow passed over his face. "And even those events have different results possible depending on different factors. Does that make sense?" 

Allison continued to regard him with an expression mixed between confusion and frustration. 

Deaton looked over to where Stiles was laying. "I severely hope Claudia is having an easier time explaining this."


	6. I Dreamed a Dream of Other Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is a little shit and a momma's boy. (It's too late for a clever summary)  
> UPDATED  
> ~~  
> It's been three weeks since the out break of the zombie apocalypse and Stiles has used all that time attempting to find his way back to those he cares for. Through mishaps and messes, Stiles learns exactly how much care he has for his pack and exactly how far he'll go for any one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For real, I am super sorry that I sorta left this. Thank you to denelian and Maddy, who reminded me that this is a think that I started. COMMENTS AND KUDOS ARE LOVE. I have sunk to begging at this point. 
> 
> Bonus! I write for people better, so send me a prompt and I'll do it.  
> ~`~

If you had asked Stiles, before this moment, what happened after death, he would have looked you straight in the eye and said nothing. Because that was what he had to believe to keep the healthy fear of death. In the darkest times he had experienced, he considered death to be oblivion, and oblivion was more terrifying than anything that went bump in the night could ever be. 

But now.... he might consider revising that statement. 

The first thing that he thinks about is how much better it smells. There were no more sickly smell of decay or the ever present musk of dried sweat that clung to his skin. The usual smells were replaced with a scent so familiar that it brought tears to his eyes. Greedily gulping the scent down, Stiles refused to open his eyes. If this was the after life, he had done some pretty serious shit and was bound to have to pay for it eventually. The face of all the people he had failed to protect flashed through his mind, guilt flowing through him. Yes, he would gladly atone for those acts, but right now he simply wanted to savor the smell lemon verbena, pine, fabric softener and all the smells that simply screamed home. 

Right as he decided that he had indulged enough and should face the music, a small chuckle sounded close to him, so familiar his eyes flew open and he shot up. There wasn't much around him, grass flowing in the breeze, a few trees scattered in a circle around himself and the sound of water that could only mean that there was a stream nearby. He was sitting in a bright red blanket, much like the one his mother had when he was small, but he had accidentally set on fire in a camping incident gone wrong. 

But what registered the most was that he wasn't alone. 

"Oh baby boy," the other person whispered, a softness that could only be achieved by a mother crossing her face. The face Stiles hadn't seen in almost a decade. The face that had been there smiling through his childhood, right up until the day it wasn't. 

"Mom..." Stiles croaked out, vocal cords not cooperating. He greedily drank in the picture before him. His mother was sitting before him, cross legged and smiling like always. Her face lacked the wrinkles brought about by raising a child, like she had just stepped out of the wedding photo hanging on the hall by the entry way. Her hair was flowing to around her in great chocolate waves, barely swirling in the same breeze that was churning the grass. 

A look of joyful mischief passed across her face, "Come now, Genim, it can't be that shocking." 

Stiles felt an incredulous chuckle bubble out of him. "Yeah, no, not all that shocking to see my mom. Especially now that we're both dead." 

A troubled look passed through her eyes. It made Stiles' stomach knot. "Sweetheart," her voice was firm but gentle. "You aren't dead." 

A few beats of silence passed as that new development sunk in. "Okay, let's say I believe that, even though I know I was literally in pieces by the time Derek found me." Which was not a good thought to entertain for many reasons. "How am I talking to you right now?" 

A tinkling laugh broke through his mother's lips. "Well, someone learned caution, I see." she mused. "I am dead, yes, but that does not mean that you are too." At his blank look, she sighed. "I raised you to be more intuitive than this." The playful lilt was back in her voice. "Remember when you were small and I would tell you that the ones we love never disappear, they simply become something we cant see?"

He did, and he also remembered the stories that went with it. He could still say most of her stories in his sleep. "And when we need them, they will return to us." Stiles recited. "So, why now?" He asked, unconsciously moving towards the other. 

"There are times in life when a person needs their mother." She responded vaguely, eyes to the sky. Silence stretched between them, Stiles soaking up as much of his mother as he could while Claudia watched the clouds float. 

"There are things I need to tell you." Claudia admitted, reclining on the blanket. "There is a family secret that I meant to tell you, but I could never find the right time."

Stiles feigned horror. "Is this the part where you tell me that your family was of the original blood line that had magic and dedicated their existence to natural magics and the assistance of mythical creatures?" 

Claudia paused for a moment, wide eyes watching her son before great peels of laughter filled the air. "You already knew." She wheezed as she returned to normal, though her eyes still sparkled with mischief. "Of course you did." 

Stiles grinned back, "What can I say?" he said dramatically with a half shrug. "I was born a Stilinski. It gave me my flair for research, as well as ties to an ancient times version of a supernatural law enforcement."

"Well then," Claudia smirked, reminding him so much of himself in that moment that it was terrifying. "What questions do you have for me then, seeing as my prepared speech will not suffice." 

Stiles reclined as well, purposefully not looking at his mother. "Why did you bind my magic?" He demanded of the clouds. The familiar ache of sorrow flowed through him as it always did when he thought of his mother taking the last thing that would have tied them after she died. 

A soft hand wrapped around his own. "I had to, baby. You were dangerous." A pause, then, "You weren't supposed to remember that."

The words cut deep, deeper than he thought they would. He pulled his hand away, glaring at the sky, which seemed to be as conflicted as his own thoughts. "I was a child!" He ground out. "I was scared. No one blames a child when they're scared. I had no clue what was going on." He paused to draw in a shaking breath. "I wish I didn't remember it. But what you didn't think about was all the creatures that would love to get in my brain and screw it over."

"You're right." She sighed. "I didn't consider that you would end up entering into the world I thought I was protecting you from. I should have known better." A breathy and slightly watery chuckle. "You always loved doing things that drove me crazy." 

"Yeah, well," Stiles replied sourly, "I could have been better prepared for everything if you had just told me. I had to figure it out on my own." 

"I know, believe me, I do." Him mother, implored, finally sitting up. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, and Stiles felt his heart clench. "But you have to understand. I did what I thought was best for you. There were people who thought you were unstable."

Stiles looked away. "I may have been, but that's because I didn't know what was going on!" His stomach churned with rage and hurt. "I needed help, mom, And no one was there." 

"You make it sound like you were entirely alone." His mother chastised. "You had Scott, your father, the Pack. They were always there to help you." 

Stiles sat up and threw his hands in the air. "They never knew what was going on, no more than I did." The sky above them gave a massive crash, drawing both their eyes.

"Sweetie, you have to calm down." There was a air of urgency to her voice. "This may not be your reality, but it is mine. You aren't supposed to be here and drawing attention isn't a good idea." 

Stiles couldn't force the mixture of rage, panic and betrayal down, which must have been obvious from his face because his mother took his hands in hers and began to hum. The song was familiar, but he didn't know from where. The ball of emotions in him began to calm as the humming continued, as if it was taking the bad emotions away one by one. 

After a few minutes, the sky was once again cerulean and cloudless. Neither mother or son spoke for a few minutes. 

"I'm sorry." Stiles whispered. There was true regret burning behind the words and Claudia could tell that it was for more than losing his cool. 

Not relinquishing the hold she had on his hands, his mother scooted closer. "My sweet boy, you have nothing to apologize for." 

A small smile curved Stiles' mouth. "We both know that's not true." There was a joking lilt to his voice. 

"Well, if you are sorry for being stubborn, then I think that needs to be from both your father and I because a union between two of the most stubborn people could only result in the most bull-headed child in the history of humanity." There was a small smile on her face, but it disappeared before she said her next words. "Genim, the binding is broken." 

Stiles' mouth dropped open as the words sunk in. "How?" 

His mother reached a hand up to his cheek. "I gave the seal a time limit. At the age of 20 it would be broken, unless before then you were close to death." The deep sadness in her eyes was unfathomable. "There is a prophecy. It was given on the day you were born."

Stiles schooled his face into the passive mask he had created to accommodate the shocks that ripped his world apart in his past. The irony that he was using it against the reason it was created was not lost on him. "That's not ominous at all." He snarked. "C'mon, lay it on me. I'm some sort of monster, aren't I?" He tried to appear joking, but failed miserably. 

His mother was suddenly holding his arm in a vice-like grip. "Genim Stilinski, look at me." Her voice was the commanding tone that seemed to be programmed into all children. Reluctantly, he looked into her all too familiar eyes. "You are not a monster, just as the Hales are not monsters." At his confused stare, she raised an eyebrow. "I know how many times you have fought Derek on his status of humanity, and the other thousand times you reassured the others. Are you really going to deny the argument so quickly now that you are on the receiving end?" Stiles swallowed before shaking his head slowly. The grip on his arm loosened slightly. "Magic corrupts those who have not fought for it. And you, my stubborn child, have fought. Not even for magic, but for life and the very things that accompany it. And that is why it will not corrupt you."

Stiles could feel himself loosen at the reassurance, but he also could not fight the feeling pooling in his gut that he was not ready for this. "What was the prophecy?" He asked, voice stronger than it was before. 

Claudia drew in a breath. "The world will become a place that people loathe to live in and fear for their lives every moment. There will be death and suffering brought about by a force no one knows how to stop. The only person who cure the world of this illness would be you." Through the whole retelling, her voice was steady, but now a crack resonated behind her words. "The prophecy said you would have to sacrifice for this. There is always a price."

Stiles felt his stomach drop unpleasantly. "Did it say what the price would be?" He tried to think of a witty comment to tack onto the end, but nothing came to mind.

"No." The word stung a bit, but with it came an odd sense of reassurance. At least he wouldn't be able to dread what ever it ended up being in advance. His mother went on. "There will be a choice, I know that much, but there was no mention of what the choice would be."

His chest tightened painfully at the words. If he were forced to chose, a choice that would really be a price, he knew it would be over the lives of the people he loves. Images of the last pack movie night before they scattered for college flashed through his head. Scott, grinning ear to ear as he watched Allison school Isaac in Egyptian war. Erica, buried between Boyd and Derek as all three tried to stay awake to watch the movie. And his own dad now, who had taken to going when he could, if only to reinforce that he would support all of them as a pack. He would rather drown than sacrifice a pack member. 

But Stiles shoved that from his mind for the time being; he had more questions for his mother and what was probably a limited amount of time to ask them. 

His mother, bless her patience, had sat quietly as he digested the information, studying his face as if she were trying to memorize it. Stiles idly wondered if she could see into the other world but couldn't bring himself to ask. If he didn't ask, he could continue to see her as a guardian. "So is there any other information vital to my life that needs to be shared?" 

The look he got was the familiar peeved expression that was laced with fondness. "Not that you probably haven't figured out." She pulled a mock concentrated expression and began to tick them off on her fingers. "Let's see... My bloodline, you father's bloodline, the prophecy, the thousand of ways that you are like me, your rightful place as emissary to the Hale Pack, your position in this pack-"

Cutting of her sarcastic list, Stiles practically shouted, "Rewind! I'm the what now? And what position in the pack? I'm just the plan boy." His voice was higher than usual.

Delicate crease formed between Claudia's eyebrows. "You are the emissary, love." At her son's utterly flabbergasted expression, she continued, amused. "Yes, myszko (mouse), you are the Hale Pack emissary. It is a position reserved for the powerful in my family." As Stiles opened his mouth to ask a question, but she cut him off again. "Alan was simply a stand in while you were growing into your power. He is prepared to hand the title and power over to you when you are ready." She patted his head consolingly though it seemed the gesture was more for her than for him. "And you are much more to that group than the plan maker. You are respected by everyone there, in pack matters and life matters, even the Alpha."

Stiles huffs, looking away from her and to the sky once more. He was not remotely surprised to see the sky becoming a elegant painting to the hands of the above. "Derek has just started tolerating being in the same room with me, nevermind to think that he would respect. And the puppies will respect and one who makes them food."

His mother tsked at him. "Don't be blind to his affection, Stiles, it's cruel after the life he's had." With a wave of her hand, the topic was dismissed. 

Stiles opened his mouth to ask another question, but it became a scream. The last thing he remembers seeing is his mother, blowing him a kiss.


	7. Confessions of a Sparking Spazz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Boyd towered over him from the foot of his bed. 
> 
> Sighing, Stiles made a face. "You all are lucky I am basically telepathic, or else this would be really weird." 
> 
> ~~  
> It's been three weeks since the out break of the zombie apocalypse and Stiles has used all that time attempting to find his way back to those he cares for. Through mishaps and messes, Stiles learns exactly how much care he has for his pack and exactly how far he'll go for any one of them.

Over the last few weeks, Stiles had come to realize there were thousands of terrible ways to wake. One of the most memorable ones had been when he was first on the road and had not quite gotten the hang of clearing out a place before he went to sleep. The resulting midnight fight that had broken out had resulted in many more sweeps of anywhere he was passing out. But no time had he woke to the even breath of another being. It immediately put him on high alert. 

As his heart began to speed, a hand soothed itself across his shoulder. "Calm down, Batman. You're safe and the playmates aren't here." 

Stiles' eyes flew open and he openly gaped at Erica. She looked much different than when he last saw her, but that's what roughly 4 months and the end of the world can do to a person. She wasn't rocking the bright red lips that she usually did and her usual eye makeup was replaced with dark circles, but her wild golden locks were the same as always, billowing in tendrils around her face. "Hey there, Catwoman." He croaked, throat protesting. "Got any water?"

She helped him get a drink, leeching some of the pain in his limbs when she thought he wouldn't notice. When Stiles tried to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, Erica grabbed his shoulders roughly and shoved him back down. "Nuh-uh." She growled. "You're staying in this bed until Deaton says you can get out of it." The finality in her voice was almost deterring enough to cause Stiles to accept it.

Almost. 

"I'm fine, Erica." He grumbled, attempting to not sound like a petulant child and ultimately failing. "It's not that bad." 

Erica's eyes flashed and she looked just south of murderous. "'Not that bad?'" She mocked. "Your Goddamn heart stopped, Stiles! I heard it stop!" It took a few moments for Stiles to realize she wasn't murderous, she was scared. Before he could think about it, he reached up and pulled her down to where she was cradled against his neck. After a few seconds, her shoulders began to shake with silent sobs.

"I'm here, I'm alive." Stiles found himself muttering. He forgot just how delicate Erica, all the wolves for that matter, were. As if on cue, the door squealed in protest as it opened slowly, the curly head of Isaac popping on. At the sight of Stiles' open and aware eyes, he launched himself across the room, burying his face in the other side of the crook of Stiles' neck and just staying there. Isaac and he had never had the most tactile relationship (Stiles suspected because he was human and therefore a reminder of the torture of his old life), so his sudden want to be near him was surprising to say the least. That is, until he spoke. 

"You are never allowed to have your heart stop again." He whispered, as if someone else would hear his moment of weakness. "That shit's not funny." 

Stiles felt his chest constrict uncomfortably. "My bad." He smiled. "Wont happen again if I have a say in anything." 

They laid there for a few minutes, silent except for their breath, which had become in sync. Eventually, Stiles spoke. "Not that this isn't awesome, but where is everyone else?" The knot in his chest that had been there over the last few weeks had loosened at the sight of the two curly haired betas, but he needed to see everyone, even if to just know that they were okay. 

Isaac rose first, blatantly sniffing the other before he grinned slightly. "Erica was supposed to get them when you woke up." Erica growled slightly at him before getting up and kissing Stiles' cheek before leaving, Isaac in tow. 

Stiles was thankful for the opportunity to rest, but he was already becoming anxious after the few moments that he had been awake and immobile. Thoughts raced through his head, finally having a few moments to accept that the weird dream experience had probably actually happened and that he would have to talk to Deaton about it. He also made a mental note to ask if he was going to have to be as enigmatic as the vet was because he really didn't think he could pull that off. 

An inventory of his injuries were basically what he remembered, but they seemed to be almost totally healed, which begged the question: How long had he been out?

"Almost two days." A voice said from the doorway said, making Stiles jump. Deaton strode through the door, closely followed by Scott, who threw himself onto Stiles unceremoniously. Stiles tried to hold back the flinch when Scott landed on some of the worse cuts. Scott wrapped his arms around Stiles' neck before a voice behind them chastised him. 

Standing around the bed stood the pack in its entirety. Scott was the only one who jumped on him, but judging by the looks on the rest of their faces, he wasn't the only one who wanted to. Silently, Stiles took stock of them, mentally checking off his list as he went.

Erica and Isaac were back, Boyd between them with a rare smile on his face. Lydia stood beside them with with Jackson, both trying to look bored with this but failing with the tear marks on both their faces. His own father stood at the foot of the bed, a grin splitting his face and more grey hair than when Stiles left. Ethan and Danny stood together, arms around each other. Cora stood by the door with her brother, both looking equally out of their element, with masks of no emotion. Stiles tried to hide his smile behind his best friend's curls. The awkward air around the Hale siblings was more comforting than if they had hugged him. Peter stood at the far wall, though there was a small smile on his face that was not his usual smirk. Melissa was standing with Deaton, both checking him over along with Allison. Kira grinned at him from the window, propping her sword against her shoulder and winking. Scott was still glued to his chest. Finally satisfied with his inspection, Stiles felt a strange tug behind his ribcage that had nothing to do with having a werewolf basically on top of him. After a few moments, he realized it was relief. He was literally aching with relief at the sight of his family. His Pack. 

His inventory took only a few moments. His silence seemed to be making Scott uncomfortable. In fact, everyone but Deaton and Melissa seemed at a loss about what to do now that they had seen him in one piece and eyes open. "So..." He grinned. "Scotty boy, I love you like my left hand, but I need you to move because your shoulder is right on a cut." 

Almost at once, Scott was off of him and laying beside him on the bed with a smirk. "What?" There was an air of mock offence in his tone. "Only your left hand? I thought we were closer than that." 

Stiles rolled his eyes, "You know full well what I do with my right hand, so don't be so quick to dismiss." 

At his words, a collective groan went through the crowd and Melissa, being closest to his head, smacked him lightly as if to remind him she was there. But her small smile as she did took away any true heat behind it. 

Stiles raised himself slightly off the bed to lean against the headboard, keeping a wary eye on Erica and Isaac, who looked ready to shove him back down. "Not that I don't love feeling like a new animal in the zoo, but I seriously need a hug from all of you. And seeing that Erica and Isaac look like they want to bust a vein with me just doing this much, you guys are coming to me." He held out his arms to Melissa, who sighed like she was put upon, but complied anyways. 

Everyone got a turn hugging Stiles as he pointedly ignored the blatant scenting with comments to each of them. A small hiccup in the proceedings was when his dad hesitated before hugging him. Confusion and hurt must have shown on his face because his dad quickly said, "I took down some growlers before you woke up. Don't want to risk getting it on you." Frustrated, Stiles moved to swing his legs over the bed to get to his dad, but then Erica had shoved him back down, narrowly missing his sore shoulder, while Isaac pushed his dad towards the bed. After a quick hug and a hair ruffle, his father pulled away, letting Danny sneak in for a the next hug. 

So it went like that, except with Deaton who politely took his hand and shook it. Stiles accepted this and muttered, "We are so talking later, so don't make plans after this." before adding, "Mom says hi." even lower. He had expected some sort of confusion or, more probably, a blank look, but when Deaton smiled and shook his hand with more vigour, Stiles could have sworn he looked relieved. The weirdo must enjoy others being cryptic right back to him. 

After the necessary hugs were dished out, Derek, Peter, and Cora withstanding, everyone except Derek, Deaton, Melissa, and Boyd shuffled out of the room, though it couldn't be said they went gracefully. Or quietly. Scott looked positively mutinous when Derek gave the order to get back to daily jobs until Allison whispered something to him that made Derek glare more and Boyd look away. When everyone was gone and Derek was satisfied no one could be eves dropping, everyone looked at him with expectant eyes. Derek and Boyd towered over him from the foot of his bed. 

Sighing, Stiles made a face. "You all are lucky I am basically telepathic, or else this would be really weird." He said, stalling. The story of how he got home was not one that he was eager to share. "I'll tell if you do." His smirk was directed at Derek, whose resting bitch face faltered for a moment. Stiles is counting that as a win. 

Surprisingly, it was Boyd who spoke first. "Camp is set up around the Hale house and land. There are about 25 people from the town that survived. The town was overrun a day after the first case hit." 

He didn't have much inflection in his voice, which was par for the course with Boyd, so Stiles felt the need to ask. "Did you get your gramms out here okay?" 

The look on Boyd's face was gobbsmacked. "Yeah, she's set up to watch the littlest kids." 

"Awesome." Stiles grinned, glancing around at the others. His gaze paused on Deaton before flickering away. "So, what's the set up like here? Anyone causing shit? Did you tell everyone about the wolfy attachments?" A thought occurred to him. "Were those guys our permanent neighbours? Cause I'm going to have a serious discussion with the neighbourhood association about their background checks if they are."

Derek spoke up. "Everyone here knows what we are and has accepted it. As for the hunters, they had been here about three days, but they wont be an issue now." The tone of his voice made it abundantly clear as to why. 

Stiles pulled another face, this one directed at the alpha. "Well, I can't say I am surprised or even upset." He took a deep breath and repressed a shudder. "I'm going to need some serious scrubbing to get the feeling of that guy's mouth off me."

Almost immediately, Derek was at his side, gaze fierce but hands gentle on his shoulders. "What?" His eyes glowed red around the edges of his irises, and his impressive eyebrows seemed to be trying to become a moustache with how furrowed they were. 

Stiles tried to pull a nonchalant face, but it probably didn't work. "Yeah, that guy was one sick bastard." He grasped the blanket with white knuckles, trying to hold himself together in front of everyone. "Anyways," He said pointedly, "As much fun as my lovely visit to those asswipes was, I don't want to think about it yet. So, moving on." 

For a long moment, Derek looked ready to argue. His face spasmed into something that looked like regret before slamming shut again. He stood, nodding.

Strangely, it was Melissa that broke the awkward silence that had descended. "Alrighty, not that I don't love watching you boys stare into each other's eyes, but I would love even more the story of how Stiles made it here even after there was almost a guarantee that he wouldn't be able to get here after the world went insane." She perched herself in front of the window and gave him an expectant look. "And I would love for it to happen before I get more grey hair."

Stiles stuck his tongue out at her but bit the bullet anyways. "So I left right when I heard the news, and I got about two towns out before the traffic stopped moving entirely and then I had to leave the road because the police stops had stopped anyone from entering Fairfield, so I ended up just packing up what I could carry. By that point everything had thoroughly gone to shit, but I met up with this group of 7 people, which later became 12, and we got the hell out of dodge because the cities were like hell had overrun them. THey were pretty chill and there was a really nice Omega named Evan who was super loyal to this mom and kid that knew what he was. I went about two weeks with them, before they found a good place to set up and start trying to stock it up for the winter. I stayed with them for a while to help them to get shit as safe as possible, them took off to get back to you guys." Alright, it was a pretty heavily edited version, but he never said he was perfect and everyone seemed satisfied with it, so it wasn't a problem. 

Well, everyone but Derek, who was looking at him with a constipated glare. After a few moments of simultaneous glaring, Derek suddenly barked to the room at large, "Everyone out." The room emptied, no one even batting an eye at the request. Before Boyd pulled the door shut, he turned and muttered something about covering Derek's patrol. 

As soon as the door had creaked shut, Derek was at his side once again, only this time, his hands were cradling Stiles' face almost like he had when they had been in the basement of that godforsaken house in the woods. In an uncharacteristic moment, Stiles let his eyes drift shut, simply enjoying the touch of the other. The relief of the the touch he had been craving going on months was crashing through him, and, judging from the small sound that escaped the other, he was not the only one that had been missing this. 

Seemingly satisfied with an inventory of his own, Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, face going to the crook of his neck like Erica and Isaac had done earlier. Stiles couldn't keep his smile from his face. "Careful, Sourwolf, people might think you actually like the annoying human instead of keeping me as a pet." He whispered, gently carding his fingers though the other's hair. His words seemed only to cause Derek to tighten his grip. 

After a few moments in the comfortable silence between them, Derek mumbled something into his neck. "Sorry, I didn't catch that." Stiles whispered back.

"They called you a toy." Derek growled louder. Stiles didn't need to see the other to know his eyes were glowing red again. 

"I remember." The words came out ragged with unshed tears, choked with emotion. "But I'm here now. And they aren't." Maybe he could reassure himself with the words meant for Derek. The thing that had always drawn them together was their inability to process emotions like regular humans. There was a deep care between them that had manifested through many nights grounding the other, keeping eachother from letting the darkness consume them in the way it sometimes threatened. They had dutifully avoided the conversation that went with this because, honestly, neither wanted to jinx it. Nothing more than comforting touches and grounding words had been exchanged, much to the annoyance of the Pack, who all seemed to think they needed to change the situation. Erica happened to be the biggest culprit, to the surprise of exactly no one. 

Suddenly, his mother's voice floated through his head, "Don't be blind to his affection. It's cruel after the life he's had." Stiles bit his lip against the feeling that rushed thorough him at the memory. 

They sat in comfortable silence, for the next few minutes before Stiles steeled his nerves and pulled his hand from the other's hair. He had to tell Derek about what his mother had told him. 

All in all, Derek took it fairly well. There was no major wolf out, or statement that he was stupid for believing what was probably the hallucination of a dying mind, only quiet acceptance, almost as if he had always known.

When Stiles was finished, Derek pulled away from his position in the crook of Stiles' neck that he had stubbornly not moved from. Stiles realized he had been still carding his fingers through the other's hair without knowing it even after making the conscious decision to stop. A beat of silence passed before he smiled, a small but genuine smile that took years from his face. "I guess you never had a chance with a bloodline like that."

Stiles snorted. "Please, I am like a magnet for trouble. You've always known that." He was glad to see the other smile. The easy smiles were never going to be his signature, but Derek had learned to smile more over the past few years. 

Derek was beginning to be more like his usual self after hearing Stiles talk so much. "I seem to remember that you are the one who always ends up in the worst situations, even though there are plenty of people with super healing that would gladly take your place." He says pointedly. 

Stiles resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at the other. Barely. "Dude, don't even go there." He countered. "You are not going to start that argument when I can't walk away to cool down." He relaxed back into the pillows on the bed and regarded Derek, considering. Did he really want to open a can of worms when he just got back?

The answer was a through and resounding "no" that had nothing to do with his aversion to discussing his position in the pack and in Derek's life. 

Instead he went for a subject change. "So, I never really got an answer on the kind of set up you guys have going here." Stiles drawled, patting the space beside him expectantly. He knew that Derek would take the offer or leave it, depending on his mood, and he could do nothing but offer. "Who's the head honcho? Is everyone accommodated? I've gotten pretty good at scavenging, so I can help you guys with that once the Doc gives me the go ahead."

Derek took the offered space. "We have sort of a council. Everyone decided it would be better if the decisions weren't left up to one person, and your dad didn't need the responsibility all on him, so Boyd and I stepped up to help him. Deaton is also one of the leaders as well, along with one of your dad's deputies, Aaron." He sat close enough that Stiles could feel the heat radiating from him. It was harder than he remembered to not simply lay his head on the other's shoulder. "Everyone has a designated place, most set up in this house. I got the generator in about a month before everything went down, but it's for emergencies only." 

After filling Stiles in on most of the other things that were crucial, Derek stood. "I have to get back and make sure everything is okay." He sounded regretful, it dutifully didn't show on his face. "I'll stop by later to check in, and I'll send one of the Pack to keep you company." He leaned over and made sure that Stiles was looking his in the eye before saying, "Stay here. Rest." 

Huffing, Stiles puffed out his cheeks to glare back. "I'm fine! I am almost entirely healed!" The protest was punctuated with his swinging his legs over the side of the bed and moving to stand before Derek pushed him back down, low growl reverberating through his chest. 

"You died." He growled. "Your heart stopped. I was holding you and your heart stopped." There was pain in his eyes that went deep enough that Stiles lay back down. "You will take as long as necessary to heal fully and you will not complain because that is what we all need right now." 

After Stiles huffed out his agreement, Derek gave him a look that was somewhere between cautious and determined before he placed a hand to the side of the other's face. His thumb swept over a bruise on Stile's cheek and his fingertips gently grazed his hair line. Instead of closing his eyes as he had done before, Stiles stared right back into Derek's. He was determined to show the other he was okay, to reassure him that he was still there.

If the look in Derek's eyes were anything to go by, the message was received. 

~`~ 

Deaton came back after about half an hour.

Foregoing any stalling, Stiles dove straight in. He was not in the mood to do the dance that Deaton tended to favor. "So, Emissary Stiles, huh?" He tried to keep his tone light. "That wasn't something you thought should be shared with the class?" 

Deaton sighed. "There was not a good time. After the Nogitsune, you were in no shape to be told there was yet another part of your life you would be unable to control." The vet stood at the end of the bed, arms full books. Some Stiles recognized from his many sessions camped out in the vet's office to try for a leg up on the creature of the week, others were new because he definitely didn't remember the book that had a bright red cover. "But I trust that you had all you questions answered by Claudia." 

Stiles slowly shook his head. "You know me better than that, doc." He grinned. "There is never an end to my questions." Straightening up, Stiles propped a pillow behind him and crossed his legs. Comfortable, Stiles made grabby hands for the books. 

"Before I give these to you," Deaton said pointedly, dodging the other with a simple step back. "I need your word that you will not, under any circumstances, over exert yourself."

Stiles scrunched up his face at the other. "What? Not you too!" He empathized with a wild flail of his arms. "I. Am. Fine. What part of that can people not understand?" His voice was almost at a yell.

Without shifting from his signature expression, Deaton shifted the books to one hand then promptly cuffed the back of Stiles' head. Hard. "You do not seem to realize that everyone on the Pack mourned you already. That is right, they thought you were dead. We all did." At Stiles' expression, he carried on. "There was a very small chance that you survived the outbreak, then adding to that the state of the world currently, there was even less of a chance." The tone of the vet took on a very slight hint of anger. "And right as the Pack got to where they accepted it, you show back up, just to die before their very eyes." The anger melted, leaving only a hard, biting tone in its wake. "Now, tell me Mr. Stilinski, how is that fair?"

There was no answer. Not because Stiles had chosen to be mature and accept all of this, but because he had never realized that might be why everyone was so adamant about him staying in one place where they could find him at any time. It didn't get rid of his itch to move, but it did give him incentive to stay put for a little bit longer. 

"Alright, Doc, you have my word that I wont climb any mountains." He relaxed back against the pillows, holding out his arms once again. "Can I at least have some reading material? Because you know I don't do well when I don't have a project."

Deaton sighed, accepting that was the closest he was going to get. "Yes, but before that, I need you to tell me what your mother said." 

Stiles screwed up his face. "Bullet point list or do you want all the gory details?"

"The edited version will suffice," Deaton was not the kind of person to pry, Stiles knew that, but his answer still made his shoulders sag in relief. 

"Alright, there was the bloodlines, which I already knew, and the binding. Thanks for that, by the way." His glare fell on a passive face. "The breaking of the binding, my place as emissary and place in the pack were sort of touched on, but they were sort of glossed over at the end there." As he went on, Deaton seemed to not be hearing what he wanted. There was only one thing left, and he hadn't even admitted that to Derek in his retelling. Oh well, seems like Deaton already knew. The asshole. "And I think that you know what the last thing is."

There were a few beats of silence, then. "You were informed of the prophecy, correct?" It was very obvious that this was the subject that Deaton most wanted to talk about. 

Sighing, Stiles shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, that was in there too." 

"Then you are aware that you are the only one who will be able to stop the reanimation of corpses." Deaton stated bluntly, far too loudly for Stiles' comfort. 

"Scream it to the world, Doc." He muttered. "As you may know, I was not brought up in magic and therefore I don't know the things I should. I'm untrained and suddenly people are telling me that I'm going to doing a shit ton of saving in the near future." His voice trailed off. "Just... Just let me adjust to one life shattering revelation before I try to handle another, okay?"

After another minute of staring, Deaton nodded. "When you are ready, we will speak of it." Then, "But in the mean time, you will be learning the basics of magic and you will be learning it correctly this time. And don't think I'm not aware of the unconventional methods you have been attempting behind my back." His lips curled in distaste. "I almost unbound you myself when I learned of your blood powers attempts. Luckily, I am assured that Mr. Hale thoroughly chastised your attempts."

Stiles thought back to the time when Derek had found him lying on his floor with his appendages slowly turning bright green and shuddered. That was the first time Derek and he had actually bonded. It was right after the Nogitsune and Stiles had been at a low point. Not thinking about the consequences, he used what power he could, which turned out to be basically blood magic. Which, he would know if anyone had bothered to teach him, could not be used without proper protection, lest the spirits attempt to crawl through the wounds and take over your heart. The night that followed involved alot of yelling, more tears than he would ever admit and a morning waking up in the bed of a cuddly werewolf that would become less shocking and more appealing over time. 

Stiles shrugged at the other. "You can't blame me for trying, Doc. I knew I had to do something and that seemed like the only viable option at the time." 

Deaton looked like he wanted to berate him more but held his tongue. Instead, he handed over the books. "You will begin with these." He stated. "There is a notebook in there that will be invaluable to you. It is blank right now, but it will be your personal informational font. The experiences you have dictate how your magic will manifest just as much as your bloodline." 

Stiles took the books, careful of the cover that was falling off the top one. "Thanks doc." he crowed.

Deaton placed a hand on his shoulder. "And I would encourage meditation. You are very powerful Stiles. That can be great or terrible, and that will be entirely decided by your control. Look for your core, what really grounds you as a person, and strengthen that. It will help you to focus and channel you energies and the spark."

Nodding solemnly, Stiles' thoughts already took off with the task. 

Seeming to sense this, Deaton smiled, walking to the door. "I have things to do. Remember not to over exert yourself. I can heal you, but there is very little I can do about an enraged Alpha."

Stiles grinned back. "Don't worry, that is the one part of my life that I really cant say that I mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY GRANOLA BREATH!! This got realllllly long. apologies and such for the long wait, but let's be real, I was having trouble writing it until about midnight last night. 
> 
> On another note, I love comments and such so please leave some. 
> 
> Love and kisses and magical shitt
> 
> Granger


	8. The calm...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stupid werewolves." he muttered as he swung his bat down on the head of the nearest advancing figure with a sickening crunch. "Stupid zombies."  
> ~~  
> Stiles finally, finally, finds himself back with his pack, but something feels off and he can't quite get what it is. Faced with losing those he loves, Stiles comes clean about his darkest time on the road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit this is sooooooooo freaking late. Like, there are no words for how late this is. Also, the beginning chapters are going through a re-write. I hated somethings and other things were totally contradicting, so now I'm going to try and fix this. 
> 
> Also, appearently I need to remember that this shit is a zombie fic because there is a startlingly low amount of references to it in here. Like no, wow I'm shit at this. I'll stick to fluff when this is done.
> 
> Without further ADO~

To the surprise of everyone, Stiles spent two days after his arrival in the bedroom, only leaving to answer the call of nature. 

Everyone made sure that he was rarely alone, though it was impossible for him to have company at all times. That didn't mean the pack didn't try. At night, there were at least three werewolves piled into his bed, which he can't say he minded, given how touch starved he had been over the past few weeks. At least at college he and his roommate had a deal with at least one hug a day, whereas with the caravan, he didnt have that luxury. Also, he cant say that he minded that he had been put in Derek's room to heal. 

On the other hand, he did mind that the pack members seemed to be deliberately keeping things about the camp vague. When he would ask, a subject change popped up or they gave him the most basic answer they could before telling him to go back to sleep or leave it alone. For some reason, the only pack member who answered his questions fully was Derek, and even then he hardly had time to before he fell asleep. Stiles wasn't cruel enough to keep the other awake when he was clearly exhausted. 

The books from the good doctor were informative, if not repetitive to what Stiles had learned on his own. His notebook was quickly being filled with theory and other things that he deemed useful. True to his word, Stiles did no magic except when he accidently drew wards into his notebook then activated them, and even when he admitted it to Deaton, the other simply shrugged and told him as long as he didn't drain himself. 

The only thing that wasn't going as smoothly was Stiles's search for his core. His meditations ended in frustration and he would sometimes have small bursts when he felt almost like he was about to lose control of every fiber of his being. When that happened, at least one pack member seemed to be able to sense it, and would curl up beside him until the feeling passed. 

On the third day, he was give the okay to leave his haven, though he was given strict instructions not to leave the camp for any reason, and that if any problems arose with his magic, he should get away from people and send for Deaton. 

The first time he stepped onto the porch of the Hale house, Erica and Scott were on either side of him.

"So," Stiles drawled. "Who wants the honor of showing me around?" 

The wolves looked at eachother before Scott shrugged. "We both have at least another hour until we need to be on patrol, so I guess we can both do it."

The camp was like Boyd told him on his first day there; set up around the Hale property. All around the house were tents and other temporary looking structures. 

Clearing her throat, Erica walked ahead of the others and for the first time, Stiles noticed that she wasn't wearing heels, making her at eye-level with his chin. "So, out here we have where the extra people sleep. We tried to keep the pack and immediate family in the house only so as to minimize the amount of people who clutter the house. Meals are made by different people, but is usually overseen by Lydia, who has taken over rationing." A smile curls her lips as she leads them between the tents. "No one really argues with her." 

Stiles snorts at the amusement in her tone. "So I take it that means someone tried at one point." 

Erica grins back at him. "Once. She obliterated him verbally." She taps her chin in mock thought. "If I remember right, that man decided to take his chances elsewhere."

Scott hummed in agreement. "Sad part is, we found him as a growler not even three days later." His voice held a sort of resigned regret that made Stiles hurt to hear in the voice of his best friend. 

Reeling Scott in under his arm in a walking side armed hug, Stiles tuned back in to Erica, who seemed to realize this even with her back turned because she continued, "Anyways, everyone has something they do to help. Most people who know how to use a gun or a weapon are on the patrol rotation. Your dad is in charge of keeping the people relatively calm and human, though we have had a few people who are taking to the idea of survival of the strongest with too much enthusiasm."

"Like who?" Demanded Stiles. Anyone who considered strength to be the be all end all was promising to be a liability. "Dad knows about this, right?"

Erica stopped and propped her hand on her hip. "Yes your dad knows, and he is keeping an eye on them. In the meantime, leave it, Stiles."

Frustrated, Stiles bursts out. "Why?" He seeths. All the pent up frustration from the last few days begins to leak out before he can reign it in. "I know I wasn't here to begin with and that I've been out of the loop for a while, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't be in it now. I mean, for fucks sake, my time spent getting here should be proof enough that I can take whatever you guys think you're protecting me from."

From where he was still under his arm, Scott sighed. "Stiles, you have to get it. We have no clue what you did out there or what was done to you. You come back, after we finally accepted that you wouldn't, and you're different. Everyone is trying to get what happened, but you don't even smell like you always have, bro."  
Blinking, Stiles retracts his arm. "What do you mean?" He demands. "Why didn't you tell me I smelled different? And what do you mean what I've done? I would tell you guys whatever you want me to. No one's asked me after that first day when I was seriously just not up to it. Hell, I'll even tell you guys about the time I had to sleep in a house filled with a family that committed suicide, though that is not something I ever want to think about again." 

Erica's face softens from the glare that she had been sporting since he started getting huffy with her. "See, we don't get things like that. We need to know why you've changed, because, believe it or not, wolves don't do well with change."

Feeling guilty, Stiles pulls both of them towards him and into a hug. "Damn, guys, I thought we got over this communication stuff years ago." 

Scott wraps an arm around his shoulders and bumps his head against his gently, and Erica grinned as she reached up and russled his still long hair. "Don't worry, Batman. We didn't want to hurt your delicate feelings by asking." She teased. 

Stiles felt totaly justified in the wet willy he gave her for that one. 

~`~  
The trio hung out until Scott and Erica had patrol, joking around and talking him through how life at the camp basically went. Both seemed more at ease after the conversation, which, in turn, helped Stiles relax more than he had since the world dropped into the shitter. 

But after the other two left, Stiles couldn't help the gnawing feeling that the rest of the pack was having the same doubts as Erica and Scott. If they weren't sure, it's almost a guarantee that the others were doubting him. He and Scott were brothers in all but blood, but even he was scared of what he may have done. The very thought made his stomach roil as he set himself up under a tree with his most current book. Steeling his resolve, Stiles vowed to gather the pack later and invite any questions on his time away. As much as he hated the idea of reliving his journey, he hated the idea of his Pack being wary of him more.   
~`~  
That night, Stiles spread word to the pack that he needed to talk. It wasn't as easy to get the word out as when cellphones were a thing, but he made due. He sent a note around with Scott that they would be gathering in the Hale house after the evening meal. Not exactly ideal, but it worked. For the most part. 

"Dude," Stiles squeaked when his dad settled onto the couch with Deputy Aaron, closely followed by Deaton and Boyd. Derek perched himself on the armrest while the rest of the pack cluttered the floor, leaning against each other for comfort. Scott stood beside Stiles right outside the door, sheepishly looking away. 

"I know, okay?" Scott fired back. "But when I told Boyd earlier, your dad did that thing where he looks at me all disappointed until I spill. Then it apparently turned into a council thing as well as a Pack thing." 

Stiles felt his chest clench uncomfortably at the prospect of having to relive the ordeal with his father staring at him, but he swallowed it down as best he could. He deserved to know as much as the rest of them. "Well," Stiles heaved. "Let's get this shit fest going." He didn't bother to keep his voice down.

When he rounded the wall, silence fell, eerie in the face of the usually talkative pack. Swallowing, Stiles dove in. "So, it has come to light that some of you guys are nervous about my time getting here." His voice sounded detached, even to his own ears. "So this is me giving you guys free reign to ask what you want and need to know so that we can get past this." His eyes flicked over his father, then away quickly. "Just..." he hesitated. "Just remember I did what I had to."

Silence once again fell. Everyone looked hesitant to even breathe. 

Thankfully, because that silence was heavy enough to suffocate on, Lydia spoke up from where she was perched on a cushion between Allison and Jackson. "I'll start because the rest of them wont." She taunted with her usual air of condensation. "We need to know what you did to start smelling differently." She paused. "Everyone has said you don't smell right like you always have. Usually we would ignore it, but the last time we did that, you were in danger. " He looked straight into her eyes and could read what she was saying there. He owed her for not saying it aloud. 

Stiles shrugged. "My near death experience broke the binding mom put on me before she died." At the looks of confusion from everyone, he elaborated. "So, if you guys remember, I've been trying to dabble in magic, but something was blocking me from doing anything big. Turns out my mom put the magical equivalent of a straight jacket on me before she died, and it would only be taken off in the event of my 20th birthday or my imminent death." He finished. 

It was strange the way everyone was calmly accepting what he said. Most were even nodding in comprehension and encouragement. Only Lydia seemed to see holes in his story. "And you know all this how, exactly?" Her voice wasn't cold, but there was an edge that cut.

Stiles understood, he really did. Lydia was the most rational of all of them. She didn't like or accept holes in reasoning or logic. That's what made her so invaluable to them on many occasions, but Stiles couldn't help hating it in this situation. 

Glancing at his father, Stiles steeled his resolve at the look of encouragement. "Because the ones we love never truly leave us, they simply become something we cant see." His voice shook and he heard Scott gasp, knowing he knew where the phrase came from, but Stiles's eyes never left his father's, which widened in understanding. "And when we need them most, they return to us."

A few beats of silence passed before the Sheriff cleared his throat. "Next line of questioning." His voice left no room for questions or argument.

The pack seemed to accept this easily, moving on.

Surprisingly, the next one to speak up was Kira. "Why was your magic bound in the first place?" She seemed genuinely curious, but she didn't miss his small flinch. 

"There were... let's just say... oh hell, whatever. Basically mom was scared that once she was gone the I was going to be hunted because I was a little kid with more power than I could keep under control all the time." His gaze slid over Allison, a silent apology. She waved it away with a small smile. "So she, with the help of the good doc over here, bound my magic. I wasn't supposed to be able to remember any of it, but it's a painful process, and some of the memories were pulled out by ex-headmate." He paused for a deep breath. "Next question?" 

Everyone looked around at each other before Derek sighed. "They want to know if you killed any still living humans." He dead panned. 

Were the words any different, Stiles would have cracked a smile at his delivery, but not with this question. He swallowed before setting his jaw. "Yes."

The reaction was about what he would have expected. Half the pack looked at him with wide eyes, while the other half tensed, like he had suddenly become a threat. On the couch, Deaton and Boyd looked on impassively while his father clenched his jaw before going motionless. But Derek's reaction was not one he would have expected. The alpha's eyes narrowed at him, though not in accusation, but in thought.

Finally, Derek broke the tense silence that had descended. "Why." He stated.

Stiles fought the urge to cross his arms over his torso under the piercing looks from all of them. He could hardly force words from his throat, and when he did, it was in a whisper. "He was with the group for three days before Evan and I realized something was up." the words burned on the way out, but Stiles knew he had to get them out. "He was nice enough, and he knew his way around a gun, so he was a good addition. Until we realized he had an illness that wasn't the one we usually look for." The air seemed thinner than before, but Stiles plowed on. "We found him with Celia in his tent. She's only 8." He couldn't bring himself to think of the look on Celia's face, nor could he bring himself to look at the faces of his loved ones. "I killed him, and I'd do it again."

He stood in silence before his Pack and the council, staring unblinking at his shoes, coaxing air back into his lungs. The silence in in the room was heavy enough to suffocate. Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, making him jump. Confused, Stiles looked up to see Isaac staring at him seriously. They stare for what feels like hours. Seeming to see what he needed to, the beta pulled the other tightly to him. He could probably feel the quakes going through Stiles's body, but said nothing. Eventually they are pulled into the pile of wolves, everyone aiming to get some contact. From their pile, Stiles could see the members of the council talking quietly. They seem to reach a conclusion because suddenly Derek and Boyd are in the over crowded pile as well while his own father maneuvered around to plant a hand to his cheek with a look filled with love and care before he disappeared through the door with Deaton and Deputy Aaron . Derek's hand slips into Stiles's hair while Boyd shoves Erica over a bit to share Stiles's thigh. 

As Stiles stared at the ceiling with the members members of his Pack cuddling him within an inch of his life, he culdn't help but feel that this where he's always belonged, where he was always fighting to get back to since the beginning. Relief flows through him at the thought that his Pack has accepted him and what he's done. And for the first time in a long time, he breathes.  
~`~


End file.
